Giving Thanks Over Breakfast Oatmeal

In my heart, she is my number one patient.  Number One doesn't mean she is the best in any way.  Number One says more about how I feel about her than how good she is as a patient, in terms of being punctual and committed to therapy.

I realize time and again I respect her very much.  I guess when I say she is number one, I mean she is stronger than me if there is such a thing as comparative degree of mental strength.

She looked at the hot bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee one morning, and pronounced her life good.  She gave thanks.

And she has lived with schizophrenia for more than twenty years.

Her family is like anyone else's: dysfunctional.  There had been domestic violence that led to her parents' divorce.  There had been parenting in all the "wrong" ways.  There had been family history of mental illness.  There had been favoritism for boys.  There had been racial discrimination.  There had been financial hardship.  There had been social isolation.  There had been hospitalization in a psychiatric hospital.  There had been living with stigma of being mentally ill, both from the public view and her own.

Yet, she finds good moments in her life when she feels content and happy.  She takes delight in the small progress she has noticed about her mind, and pride shines in her voice.

She is not in anyway even close to being "normal." Medication is indispensable, and social skills are still lacking for her to form deep relationships and find a job and keep it.  Severely violated psychological boundary leaves her with constant fear in her interaction with family members and anyone who tries to be close to her.  Including me.

Yet, she counts her blessings.

Cooking and doing the mundane daily chores used to take all her mental energy and left her high strung.  She can now plan her time a week ahead of time and routine has set in and she finds herself on auto pilot most of the time, like most people, when she cooks and cleans.  Easy.  She even has the mental capacity for future planning and became curious about the purpose of her life.  She wants to know God's plan for her.  She wants a bigger life; one that includes more people and more activities, and, more meaning than just taking care of her father and keeps a house clean.

I thanked God with her and for her.  

After the session, I walked out of the office and the December California sun greeted me.  I thought about how I would give thanks when I felt the warm water coming out of the shower head each morning.  For her, it's a bowl of oatmeal.  We are, after all, more similar than different, because we all are the object of his love.

"He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." Matt. 6:45.